


there are rivers we cannot cross.

by HumptyDumpty



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:23:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumptyDumpty/pseuds/HumptyDumpty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>«the fake is of far greater value. In its deliberate attempt to be real, it's more real than the real thing.»</p>
            </blockquote>





	there are rivers we cannot cross.

**Author's Note:**

> I get the weirdest inspiration when my personal life is sinking. This is not something I'd usually write but I... had to?  
> Sorry for ruining the Blackwater scene though.

Sansa Stark is so pretty she bewitched you, but the scenery outside her room is not. You can't even bring yourself to look at it. You're clutching a pitcher of wine, your enormous body spread all over her bed, not able to remember how you got there in the first place. You wish you could ignore it all and only focus on the perfect details of her figure, which has been so carefully and marvellously engraved in your mind before you could even notice. And just like that, with green flares engulfing everything, you fall asleep.

Nightmares are never gone when you wake up, and this time is no exception. You're quite certain you'd closed that fucking window, but you can still see the fire burning everything to the ground. You wouldn't even care anymore, but your throat is sore as though some flames were devouring you entirely. That's when you realize you've been drinking, quite too much. But this isn't an exception either. No, something else is, the light footsteps approaching and the feeling of not being alone, albeit lonelier than ever. 

You knew she would come, but the name she's calling isn't yours.

Her wrist is so small and fragile when you grab it, your huge hands could crush it if you simply didn't pay enough attention. You'd never harm her purposely though. You've always thought you could harm anyone, and then she appeared merely to remind you that deep, very deep down in your beastly heart, you're still a tiny bit human and will spare a wounded bird, even try to save it. Nevertheless, protecting is a knight's job, and you're nothing like that. You're definitely nothing like that shit, which is why such a naive bird will desperately flap its wings and be hurt more. You can tell from the expression on her face, no matter the poor lightning and drunkenness. Or you know her too well.

You threaten her not to scream, she doesn't. But maybe you should've also told her not to speak. You talk, talk, and she repeats, she repeats because she can't understand. You're losing everything and you have to go. Quickly. You're doing this because you can't leave her behind, you don't want to. The flames won't take her, too, away from you. 

She doesn't belong to you, just like Gregor's toy. She's never been yours from the beginning and, from the way she's shivering, you can tell she would be afraid to. But you're going to steal her. You're not letting anything get in the way this time. 

You could save her. You could make sure she's safe. It won't be easy to fly at first, but you could uncage her. She's so scared it makes you sick. It's almost painful, more than any battle you've ever fought. She's staring at your scars but she can't see anything through them, she won't hear your words. Maybe it would be easier if she'd never laid her eyes on you. You're monstrous, on the outside, on the inside, but although you're struggling to show her the kindness you've never known your whole life she'll always overlook your attempts and chirp hollow courtesies. No kindness can do for what you've lost. You embrace her, because during the years you've ended up knowing some tales and all knights in a white armour do such things. Perhaps that's also out of longing for her warmth, but you immediately discover how the steel plates hide it well, and how reality is indeed so very real you can't change it, or it's a kind of nightmare you can't escape no matter how hard you try. 

You need a glimpse of her beautiful world one more time. She promised she'd take you there.

There's a thin line between expectations and truth. You're always acting according to expectations, and nobody expects anything of you. Except ruthless violence, that is. So you do as Sansa Stark expects of Sandor Clegane and the next moment she's forced on the bed, about to die as far as she knows. She has only ever known lies after all. 

And so have you. You only realize it when her breath hastens and her trembling voice reaches your ear. It's not a song she's singing; that's a prayer. 

Her world is forbidden to you. You can't be a part of it, and she won't seek freedom, not with a Hound. If anything that would kill her. You're making a fool out of yourself, and you're certainly ugly, but still you're not Florian and neither she is your Jonquil. 

You've seen a cage since the beginning when it's simply her natural habitat. It's all there's ever been to it.

Her hand touches your cheek, almost accepting at last, and you understand it's time to go. "Little bird...", you whisper, and without further words you free her from your weight, slipping away. Nothing about you could possibly reach her. Your steps are unsteady and when you nearly trip into the bloody white cloak, you swiftly tear it off your shoulders, leaving it behind to rot.

You can't help but wonder if she'll keep it, anyhow.


End file.
